Bulletproof
by Finding Beauty
Summary: In a world where no one lives forever, some things never die. The Turks mourn the loss of one of their own. (Game spoilers, Tseng's fate.)


**Disclaimer**: Final Fantasy VII, its characters, settings, and story are copyright to Squaresoft. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Note**: Part of a chronological story arc written in conjunction with Beautifully Twisted (though not necessarily all produced in order from beginning to end). The arc itself is a work in progress, but this follows up my story _Last Morning_ and its counterpart _Meridian_ by Beautifully Twisted. Reading the other two isn't strictly necessary, but would help considerably.

* * *

**Bulletproof**

  
  
"I still can't believe he's gone."

There, she's said it, what the other two won't. Now that she has, the words hang in the air, awkward and best left unspoken. But Elena has never been one to ignore the behemoth in the room, and if Reno and Rude insist on being so damn silent about it, then she'll have to make the first move. They can't ignore it, no matter how hard they might try. Their leader, comrade, and—she thinks, with an odd little pang—friend is dead.

At the reminder of just why they're sitting in the lounge of one of the Shinra building's better, upper floors, getting themselves thoroughly sloshed, Reno tosses back his drink and unceremoniously sets the glass back down. It seems to be all the response he plans to give; words are saved for the cocktail waitress he waves over to get him a refill. Make it a double, this time.

Rude is inscrutable as ever behind his sunglasses. But of all of them Rude has always been the nicest to her. Even Tseng, always carefully cultured, was never quite _nice_, exactly. He was distantly and coolly polite, the type who made certain to say 'thank you' and 'please,' a gentleman who held open doors and stood when a lady entered the room. But something about Tseng had been distant, aloof and untouchable; Elena had fancied on more than one occasion, noticing secretaries and file clerks as they looked up to watch Tseng walk by, that she hadn't been the only one to ever develop an infatuation with the dark-haired leader of the Turks.

"Tseng was doing his job," Rude says, not unkindly, but still enough to break her train of thought. "He always did."

He's right, of course, but it boggles the mind even now, the idea that Tseng could actually be dead. Missing in action is the official term for it—a little more time will pass and his status will be upgraded (or downgraded?) to killed. It's nothing that hasn't happened before; Turks have a higher casualty rate than any other part of Shinra. Even a small percentage of SOLDIER is still alive, growing into old aged weariness—even if their bodies aren't caught up to their experience—living well off fat retirement pensions.

The Turks have been doing a better job of it in recent years; Tseng is the first death in the ranks since Reno replaced the last fallen member more than five years before. It's morbid to think so, but perhaps they were overdue it. Only a handful of them have ever lived long enough in the history of the corporation to actually retire. It is not a career one enters into—or leaves—lightly. They're paid well to do what they do, but with that contract comes a lifetime seal. Termination including death, one way or the other.

"I—remember, right before it happened," Elena says, and her voice drops slightly, "I didn't think he acted like himself." She pauses, chews on her lower lip. _But he did ask me to dinner._

It's been her closely-guarded secret. Something just between her and Tseng, not to be shared with everyone else. It wasn't a 'Turk thing,' it was more personal than that. A small triumph, really, that he should ask her, silly little tomboy Elena, when he could have had his pick of any number of women—or, because she wasn't so naïve she hadn't noticed lustful stares from both genders, men—at Shinra. She still hasn't been able to figure out his motives in doing so, but she's thought about it often in the past few days, still hoping against hope that Tseng will find some way to come back.

To her? She isn't sure if she dares presume.

"Superstitious," Reno blurts out after a second. He seems almost surprised at himself for saying it; he looks quizzically down into his drink as if the amber liquor will lend him answers to some great unknown question. "I mean, I always thought Tseng kinda was, you know? He just pretended he was bulletproof."

Elena frowns and considers this theory, a little hole in the puzzle of what she has up until now thought of Tseng as. Always just out of reach—the sort of unattainable thing you want in a small part perhaps just because you can't have it.

Reno shrugs, goes on without prompting. "Damnit, I can't believe he's gone either." He seems momentarily sobered by the thought, then he reaches for the bottle he prompted the waitress to leave on her last trip over and tops off all their drinks. "I always thought he'd outlive all of us. Maybe live forever, just outta spite. I'll bet the bastard would get a real kick out of this if—well."

"Keep it up, Reno, and he's gonna come back as a ghost just to kick your ass," Rude warns. Then he grins just slightly and adds with some amount of pleasure, "Not that I think you don't deserve it."

Reno snorts, and the mood is suddenly lightened. "Oh, you remember that one time at that chocobo farm over past Kalm . . . we go in there, farmer's pet bird runs up to the side of the fence while Tseng's standin' there talking to its master, right? An' the thing starts chewing on Tseng's hair like it's a pile of greens or somethin'—and Tseng's just like . . . man, the look on his face. I thought I'd never pick all the yellow feathers outta my hair."

Elena finds herself leaning forward on her elbows, chin in one hand and drink in the other, listening raptly to Reno's story—as stupid as it is. Rude has a small smile quirking at his lips, and Reno is on the verge of laughing. Elena isn't quite certain where it comes from, when five minutes ago she was certain she was wallowing in a pit of despair, but all of a sudden a giggle bubbles up and bursts from her lips, triggering Reno and even a dry chuckle from Rude.

For a moment it's as if nothing has changed—they're just the Turks again, sitting around in the lounge laughing about the latest stupid thing to happen. As if any moment they expect Tseng to walk in and somehow know he's the butt of the joke—and for the glare in his eyes to cut all that off, even if he looks just a little amused behind the stoic expression, himself.

But it isn't Tseng who interrupts them this time. Tseng is dead; they're reminded of it when a sudden field of white enters their vision from someone who stops at the edge of the table.

"Mr. President!" Elena squeaks, the first one to look up and notice just who's standing there.

As if it could be anyone else but Rufus Shinra in his customary white suit, something indescribable smoldering behind dull blue eyes. The President of Shinra, younger even than Elena herself, has looked increasingly worried in the past weeks. His expression is still one of glacial calm, features in their pale cast indifferent from usual. At a distance no one would be able to see his fatigue, but up close it is readable in the tight line of his mouth and the tense set of his posture, as of someone who is bone weary but on edge trying to remain alert.

"Reno, Rude . . . Elena," he greets with an absent sound to his tone. "I was told I could find you here."

Reno's laughter has long since tapered off and he squints up at Rufus now with something that, if Elena didn't know better, she might mistake for sympathy. He gives a nod that's more respectful than usual, coming from him. "Pull up a chair?" he offers.

Elena glances at him in surprise, but knows better than to say anything.

"No, thank you," Rufus shakes his head, seeming almost awkward in his interaction with them. "I wanted a word with Rude, actually."

Elena frowns, feeling terribly new and out of the loop as Rude gives a silent nod and rises, without question, to make a quiet exchange with Rufus; then furthermore, as the two of them leave the room. She looks at Reno in a bit of helplessness but he doesn't seem terribly fazed as he swirls the last of his drink around in its glass.

"Any idea what that was about?" she finally asks, impatient about the whole thing.

"Nah, probably just our next assignment. And that lucky bastard just got outta payin' for his booze. I oughta bill it to the Pres, I'm sure he's gotta tab." The vibrantly redheaded Turk tips back the half-inch of liquor. "C'mon, 'Lena, I'll walk you home."

"Look," Elena protests sharply, "I may be the newest Turk, but—we're supposed to be a team, and if there's something going on, I want to know about it. And I'm not _stupid_, Reno—" She pauses, a death glare in her brown eyes that just dares her slacker of a counterpart to say anything, then goes on with fervor, "—I know President Shinra himself wouldn't be down here himself just to give us new orders."

Reno sighs and rubs a hand over his face, thumb absently tracing the scar beneath his right eye. "Okay, okay. I promise, when all this shit's over, me'n Rude'll explain it to you. But until then, you gotta just trust us, okay? 'Cause we're the Turks, and that's what it's all about."

* * *

Rufus Shinra has been awakened to a great many things in the last few weeks. He rules the world but seems to have no place in it. The reality of life outside his apartment brings a burden of leadership that balances out the power he now holds in his hand. The decisions he makes will be blamed on him if they are wrong; he is in the public eye, what everyone thinks of as Shinra. It is a surreal position to be in, after so long playing puppet as a vice president with no control over anything.

It is a difficult time to seize power in, but he holds his own. The Turks are a great benefit, with loyalty Tseng helped him to earn from them. Rufus realizes that he owes a lot of his knowledge to Tseng. His bodyguard's subtle guidance over the years has shaped him into who he is. More cautious than his father, and determined not to make the same mistakes. He will make the world take him seriously—even those who oppose him will learn to fear his name.

Rude is silent as he leads the way down the hall to a modest office. He produces a keycard from his pocket, swipes it and opens the door for Rufus to enter first. Then the Turk follows and quietly closes the door behind him, relocking it to allow privacy.

Rufus frowns thoughtfully as he looks around the office, familiarizing himself with the new surroundings. It's yet another part of the building he's never seen before, he thinks with a slight bit of chagrin. This one is average size for a mid-level executive, decorated sparsely but with well-made furniture. There are few personal touches; a tall, slender vase containing a few stalks of bamboo on one corner of the dark wood desk, a sheathed blade on a stand on the opposite.

It hits him, all of a sudden, that this is Tseng's office. The others would not need one.

Rude waits respectfully for Rufus to initiate the conversation, but the younger man can feel the intent observation from behind the Turk's dark sunglasses.

"Did you know that after this blooms, it dies?" Rufus asks after a moment, distractedly fingering the leaves of the bamboo, and the blossom that shows through the greenery. He shakes his head, remembering himself, and looks up. "I wanted to speak to you about the leadership of the Turks."

Typically, this is the point at which the other person in the discussion would ask a question to keep it going. However, Rude says nothing, and Rufus awkwardly continues. "You hold seniority now."

"Thank you, sir, but no," Rude replies, and while the words are politely apologetic, they are firm.

"You don't want the promotion?" Rufus counters, perplexed. The Turk has to be the single person within Shinra, then, who isn't looking to advance his station within the company.

"We're a unit, sir."

"A unit." Rufus raises an eyebrow. "You still need leadership."

"Reno and I've been partners for five years," Rude reasons. "Elena's a smart girl, she catches on fast. We can work together." He's silent for a moment, then he adds with a certain depth of thought, "If I can be blunt, sir?"

"Go ahead," Rufus sighs, rubbing his hand wearily across his brow, brushing back wayward strands of blond hair. Somehow he feels more comfortable showing this apparent sign of weakness in the Turk's presence. They may just be the sole trio of people in the lion's den that he can actually trust. "You're being more honest with me than anyone has this week."

"We can't replace Tseng," Rude says simply. "Not me, not Reno. Right now we're in the middle of a situation. Better to make this decision when it's all over."

The mention of Tseng makes something constrict in Rufus's chest, but he fights back the feeling and the urge to turn his gaze away and look down at the desk. Something about Rude is frankly open and honest despite the fact his eyes cannot be seen.

"Very well, then," he acquiesces, giving in perhaps a bit more easily than he would in any other situation. A part of him is as loathe to fill the role of leader as much as the Turks are to have it filled. Rude's words are truer than he might think. No one can replace Tseng. "I'll let you get back to the others."

"Sir."

He stops on his way to the door, turns back to look at Rude. "Yes?"

"Reno and Elena are too paranoid to go through Tseng's stuff—they think he'll come back and break their kneecaps." The Turk sounds vaguely amused as he moves over to the desk and picks up the sheathed _tanto_ blade, extending it to Rufus. "But I think you should take this."

Rufus accepts the knife, secretly grateful that Rude did not use some cliché line like, _he would want you to have this_. He tugs the handle and frees it from the sheath, studying the etching that runs down the side of the blade and the dragon that coils around the hilt, swallowing its own tail.

"When I first knew Tseng," Rude tells him, "he told me that was all he took with him of Wutai. You hold on to it for him."

And Rufus Shinra, born to wealth and power and inheritance, feels nonetheless strangely privileged that this is being shared with him. Yet at the same time jealousy gnaws at him and rises, choking, that he could know so little about the man who had been his lover.

"I envy you," he replies after a moment, finally risking speech. "You and Reno, even Elena. You knew the parts of Tseng I couldn't. You have your stories and your jokes and all those memories, and I—I never knew him, not really. I had him, but I had no idea who he truly was. He would never tell me, never share that part of himself with me—"

"He was one of us," Rude interrupts before he can finish. "But he loved you."

Rufus stares up at him, shaken by the words. Tseng never told him that he loved him, and he never asked. It made it easier not to say it back. "What . . ."

The Turk reaches out, folds Rufus's hands around the _tanto_. "That's enough."

And somehow it has to be.


End file.
